


please don't let me go down

by hopeless_hope



Series: i feel worthy, somehow [3]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Depression, Guilt, Hurt/Comfort, Parent Tony Stark, Peter Parker Gets a Hug, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Precious Peter Parker, Self-Hatred, Team as Family, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony is a dad, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-17
Updated: 2019-05-17
Packaged: 2020-03-06 18:35:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18856750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hopeless_hope/pseuds/hopeless_hope
Summary: A sound leaves Peter then, high-pitched and full of grief, and the lights flicker on to the dimmest setting. Peter barely registers the blurred shape that walks towards him and pulls him close, one hand at the back of his head and the other arm around his heaving shoulders.Peter inhales shakily, and he recognizes the smell of Tony - a mixture of metal from working in the lab all day and the faint smell of fancy cologne.“T-Tony,” Peter cries, feeling more like a child than ever. It’s been months since he’s let himself cry like this, and he can’t help but grasp Tony’s shirt tightly, afraid of sinking under the weight of it all.“I’m here, buddy,” Tony says quietly but firmly, holding the kid just a little tighter. “I’m right here.”orTwo times Peter goes running back to May. Two times Tony is there for him afterwards.





	please don't let me go down

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from the song "Worthy" by Jacob Banks.

Peter stares at the clock unblinkingly as it switches from 11:59PM to 12:00AM. It’s not the moment he thought it would be. In his mind, he thought the world would halt, for just a second, just as it had a year ago. But it doesn’t. It’s a quiet moment, the stillness of an ocean just before a tsunami hits.

It hurts and it hurts and it hurts, but it hurts quietly.

A year ago,  Peter had a home Ben was alive.

A year ago, Peter woke up in his small bunk bed with a _ Star Wars  _ comforter and May adding too much water to the oatmeal and Ben laughing at her while scrambling eggs before he had to go into work. Perfect moments are rare enough to be kept in a bottle, but most mornings in the Parker household were perfect ones.

A year ago, he’d come home with blood on his hands in every sense of the word, and then he washed it off  it never comes really comes off and cried into May’s arms like it wasn’t all his fault in the first place.

Grief wells just beneath his skin, and he sits and waits for it to drag him under. It doesn’t, though. It quietly slithers through his veins, a current with nowhere to go, and suddenly, all Peter wants is May’s arms around him again.

He’s practically on autopilot as he flings his covers off and quickly shrugs into a t-shirt and shorts, stepping into a pair of shoes and pulling his mask on before gingerly opening the window and stepping out. He pauses briefly, Tony’s face flashing in front of his eyes, and thinks that maybe he should get him.

But then he shakes his head, because Tony has always been about fixing things. And he can’t fix this. It would only hurt more to see him try.

Peter makes quick work of scaling the side of the building, touching down to the ground softly behind a dumpster. Glancing around to make sure no one’s watching, he quickly slips his mask off and tucks it into his pocket before making the familiar trek.

The night air is cool, even in the summer, but a warm breeze brushes past, and Peter leans into it with a sigh. He considers going to Ben’s grave, but he doesn’t think he could face him. What do you say to the uncle who’s dead because of you?

No, Peter isn’t brave enough for that. Instead, he lets his feet walk the path they’ve walked a billion times before, hating himself for it. But there’s a little kid inside of him that can’t help but scream for his aunt’s embrace, to be comforted and told that it’ll be okay.

(And she did, back then. She hugged him and held him and rocked him and told him that they’d get through it - they’d do it  _ together. _ )

Together, Peter’s learned, means nothing when it comes to him.

But that doesn’t stop him from going to May’s apartment. His lungs fill with saltwater the closer he gets, the ocean inside of him roaring to life as May’s familiar heartbeat fills his ears. He’d know her heartbeat anywhere.

He stops softly in front of her door and listens. It’s late, but he knows she’s up. Her breaths switch from heavy to shallow, almost like she’s forgotten to breath. But then again, she forgot a lot of things when Ben died.

She sniffles loudly, and Peter knows she’s crying. He knows he should be crying too, but the ocean inside of him is pulling him down, and he just goes with it, sitting on the floor with his back against the door. He breathes slowly, carefully, as if something might break otherwise.

May chokes on a sob, and Peter stares at the door across from him. All the currents inside of him tug him back, scream at him to go comfort her and hold her like she once did for him.

But he also knows, deep down, that she can no longer offer that for him, nor can he for her. She threw him out to the sharks and he learned to swim all on his own. Tony was the one who pulled up in a lifeboat.  _ Tony. _

He needs Tony.

Peter lurches back to his feet and turns to stare at the door. He’s spent months and months mourning the life he used to have behind it. With Ben and May and Ned and MJ. Ben died, and Peter lost everything. It aches deep inside of him as he listens to May cry to an otherwise empty apartment. She cries and cries and cries.

He turns and leaves.

Peter’s already shaking by the time he makes it back to the Tower. He pulls his mask on and clumsily climbs back up, stumbling through his window. For a second, all the blood rushes to his head and he sways, tears springing to his eyes as he discards the mask again.

For a moment, he just stands there, breaths coming in heaving gasps as he stands on weak knees. A year ago. A year ago. A year ago from this moment, Ben was sleeping next to May, with no clue that  Peter would kill him it’d be his last night.

A sound leaves Peter then, high-pitched and beyond human in its grief, and the lights flicker on to the dimmest setting. Peter barely registers the blurred shape that walks towards him and pulls him close, one hand at the back of his head and another arm around his heaving shoulders.

Peter inhales shakily, and he recognizes the smell of Tony - a mixture of metal from working in the lab all day and the faint smell of fancy cologne.

“T-Tony,” Peter cries, feeling more like a child than ever. It’s been months since he’s let himself cry like this, and he can’t help but grasp Tony’s shirt tightly, afraid of sinking under the weight of it all.

“I’m here, buddy,” Tony says quietly but firmly, holding the kid just a little tighter. “I’m right here.”

“I - I killed him,” Peter sobs, practically gagging on the words. “Ben - he - it’s my fault I couldn’t s-save him.”

Tony gently pulls him towards Peter’s bed and cradles him close, shushing him gently. “You didn’t kill him. That wasn’t on you. You didn’t pull the trigger, and you did everything you could.”

Peter sees May’s accusing glare in his mind and knows he can’t believe Tony. So instead, he presses his head into Tony’s chest and tries not to think about anything at all.

Tony hugs him and holds and rocks him and tells him they’ll get through it - they’ll do it together.

(And maybe he’s a fool, but Peter believes him.)

* * *

Peter’s spent most of the day trying to tell himself that it’s a normal day. Because, as far as everyone knows, it  _ is  _ a normal day. Or, as normal as a day can be when living with a bunch of superheroes.

When he wakes up, everything  _ feels  _ okay. Peter tells himself that a date doesn’t mean anything, that anniversaries shouldn’t have to have any real significance. Things happen everyday. Everyday is an anniversary of something. So it shouldn’t  _ matter. _

And yet, when he glances down at the StarkPhone Tony had given him and sees the date, his breath catches in his throat, and he knows now he’ll never forget that day. But he tries to at least push it to the back of his mind.

For the most part, it works. There’s no big breakdown, no moment where he tucks himself away and hides from his team - his family. It’s a Saturday, the team’s designated lazy day, so he doesn’t even have to put much mental work into anything.

But the thoughts. God, he hates the thoughts. They’re ridiculous, intrusive things that cling to him like vines and leech away his tenuous hold on stability.

Like now.

He’s watching a movie with Nat, Clint, and Steve in the spacious living room. Peter’s sitting on the floor and leaning against the couch, while Nat sits above him and cards through his hair absentmindedly. He can’t help but lean into the soothing touch, barely paying attention to the movie.

“Kid, you’re in my spot,” a voice says bitingly, and Peter jerks, eyes wide as he takes in the sight of Tony towering above him. Peter shrinks back against the couch, heart thundering in his chest as all the thoughts he’s been struggling to push away rush through him.

_ You’re in the way, Peter, you’re  _ always  _ in the way. They hate you. Look at the way they’re looking at you. Clint thinks you eat too much, and Steve is side-eyeing you in annoyance because you’re  _ annoying.  _ You use up all of Mr. Stark’s resources, and  _ you’re in the way.

_ He’s going to kick you out, too. They don’t want you. _

He tries to tell himself he’s wrong, tries to cross the thoughts out in his head, but he can’t. They’ve taken root as truth. Instead, he just crawls out of the way and keeps his eyes down, not wanting to see the annoyance on Tony’s face.

“I’m sorry!” he says quickly, jumping to his feet. “I didn’t - I didn’t know.”

Tony gives him a confused look. “Whoa, kid. I was just messing with you. You okay?”

Peter flushes, feeling stupid, and he can feel the eyes of everyone else in the room on him.  _ They’re judging you, Peter,  _ the voice his in his says scathingly.  _ They think you’re being stupid. Always so stupid. May knew you were stupid. You’re probably going to kill one of them, too. _

“Kid?” Tony asks cautiously as Peter’s breaths speed up, reflecting his inner turmoil. Tony carefully puts a hand out to rest of Peter’s shoulders, but he shies away, feeling unworthy of the comfort.

_ You don’t belong here. They don’t want you. _

There is an ache deep inside Peter that screams for  _ home.  _ For the first time in a long while, it’s not the Tower. It’s that tiny apartment in Queens, back with his Aunt.

It’s been a year. Maybe - maybe it will be different this time.

A wounded look flashes across Tony’s face, and Peter looks away again, stuttering out a quick, “I’m - I’m sorry. I’m -”

And then, like the coward he is, he flees.

He hears the others burst into action, shouting at him in confusion, but the thought of  _ maybe maybe maybe  _ has taken ahold of him, and he - well, Peter’s not good enough for the Avengers anyway. He never was.

He doesn’t register that he’s been running on bare feet until he’s almost all the way back at May’s apartment. The hot pavement, he realizes belatedly, has left angry blisters on his feet that burn as they touch the carpet of the hallway outside the familiar door.

Peter practically wheezes as he tries to catch his breath, wondering how long it took him to get here. He doesn’t remember anything of the run other than the suffocating hope that sprouted through his ribcage, like a weed in concrete.

Hope is always growing in impossible places, and this time is no different.

(It might be his ruin.)

Peter knocks on the door and listens as she shuffles within the apartment. He doesn’t breathe.

The door swings open, and he watches as the forced, customary smiles leaves her face.

“Peter?” May asks. Her eyes are red, and Peter wonders if she’s been crying.

“H-Hi,” he says lamely. He drinks in the sight of her face. Not much has changed, really. She still has dark circles around her eyes and deep lines etched into her face from grief. He remembers how radiant she used to be.

She’s a far cry from the aunt he used to have.

“What are you doing here?” She doesn’t quite meet his eyes, and Peter knows she knows. He wonders if she regrets it. If she regrets kicking him out, if maybe it’s enough to take him back.

“I just - I -” He struggles for the right thing to say. In his head, he never made it this far. “It’s been a year.”

She nods, looking more tired than ever. “It has.”

He looks at her, desperate with hope. “I thought - you always said you weren’t ready to see me, and - and I guess I thought that maybe… It’s been a year.”

May swallows thickly and glances up at him before looking away again, and Peter’s face falls. “Peter, baby, I - I need you to know how much I love you,” she whispers, reaching out to brush his cheek gently.

And even as he knows he’s being crushed, hope blooms in his chest, and he  _ hates  _ himself for it. “Then can I - can’t I come home?”

She cups his cheek tenderly, and Peter leans into it without thinking. But then she pulls away, and he makes a wounded sound in the back of his throat, tired and longing. May’s eyes fill with tears as she looks down, and Peter knows that’s his answer.

Inside of him, everything wilts. It hurts and it hurts and it hurts, but it hurts quietly.

“Why are you crying?” he whispers accusingly, and she winces at the impact of his words. “You did this.”

A tear falls down her cheek, then, and Peter’s chest burns with sudden, blinding anger. “I  _ hate  _ you,” he spits, the words acidic on his tongue. Somewhere, a voice inside of him whispers that that’s not quite true. That he loves her so much, and that’s why it won’t stop hurting.

But this is easier.

She recoils, and Peter can’t help the feeling of satisfaction at the look on her face. “You threw me out on the street like I was  _ trash.  _ And maybe - maybe I fucking am, but I thought family was stronger than that.”

He puts his chin up defiantly, even as his body trembles with grief and anger. He looks into her eyes and doesn’t recognize the person who’s staring back. This is not the aunt he knew.

But then again, he’s not the nephew she once knew, either.

“But you’re not really my family anymore, are you?” he tells her. Another tear falls down her face, but he doesn’t care. “No,” he answers for her. “I found other people. And maybe I don’t deserve them, either, but they’ve done everything for me. I thought - I thought I still needed you to take me back. But I already have a home. And it’s not here.”

Peter knows that these words probably mean nothing to her, but they’re everything to him. It’s like everything’s clicked into place. After everything he’s said and done - the hoarding, the depression, the sleepless nights - he has people who’ve never left. Who love him.

_ It doesn’t mean that I’m not annoying sometimes and a lot to handle. It just means they love me in  _ spite  _ of it. _

“I deserve a home,” he tells May, and it’s like opening his eyes after spending so long in the dark. “I deserve a home, and it’s not with you. It’s with my  _ real  _ family.”

In front of him, May’s face crumples, and Peter turns away. He doesn’t need to see anything more. He leaves her, standing there under the weight of what  _ she’s  _ done, and rounds the corner, running straight into someone.

“That was one hell of a speech, kiddo,” Tony says, eyes searching the kid’s. Peter’s breath hitches, and he launches himself into Tony’s arms without warning.

“I’m - I’m so sorry for running,” Peter babbles. “I just - I needed -”

Tony cuts him off with a tight squeeze. “I know, buddy. It’s okay. I’m not mad,” Tony reassures him warmly.

Peter pulls back and looks at Tony, eyes locking with him. There’s a new hope being planted inside of him, and as he looks at Tony, he thinks that maybe this time it won’t be fruitless.

“Thank you,” Peter chokes out. “For - for everything. I - I love you so much.”

Tony sucks in a sharp breath, and Peter panics, thinking it was too soon, too weird, and now Tony’s definitely not going to want anything to do with -

“I love you, too, kid,” Tony tells him, wrapping an arm around him and pulling him close again. “Now, whaddya say we go home?”

Peter thinks of Nat and Rhodey and Steve and Sam and Clint and everyone who’s made the Tower home over the past few weeks. He looks back, one last time, in the direction of May’s apartment. And then he looks back at Tony, who’s watching him carefully.

Peter smiles.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “Let’s go home.”

**Author's Note:**

> Ugh, this was never going to be exactly the way I wanted it. There were soooo many directions I wanted to take this in, and it ended up entirely different from what I thought it'd be, so I apologize if it's a bit weird. But I hope you like it. It's meant to be the last big leap in Peter's character arc for this series, and I think the rest of what I post to it in the future will be snapshots into his life with the Avengers and possibly alternate versions of his meeting with May. Feel free to let me know what you'd like to see in the future, since I don't have any specific plans yet!
> 
> Also, May is meant to be OOC. She'd never kick Peter out in the first place lmao.
> 
> Please leave a comment/kudos and let me know what you think! Your comments are like gold to me, and I really treasure them. As always, come talk to me on tumblr @the-great-escapism. Thank you for reading.


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